Add One
by Spectralprincess
Summary: What happens when the dynamic duo of Christine an Meg becomes a terrific trio of Christine, Meg and Calista? A past friend of the Ghost, a few things may change. NOT A MARYSUE! Eventual EOW, movie based.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own PotO sadly, however! I do own Calista… she is mine:)**

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**Giggles erupted out of the _corps de ballet_ dressing room, followed by a huge _crash _then more giggles. The door slammed open and an outpouring of scantily clad Ballet Rats clogged the doorway. They clamored to get down the stairs and to the barre to stretch under Madame Giry's scrutiny. As the Rats cleared out of the room, a browned eyed brunette beauty and a voluptuous blonde scurried around making sure that hair pieces, costumes and shoes were secure while a raven-haired young woman hopped around on one foot, trying to tie the ribbons to her ballet shoes. Just as she finished tying a perfect double-knotted bow, the two other girls finished. The trio raced down the winding iron staircase with the gauzy hem of their costumes lifted so they wouldn't step on them and cause it to tear. Still giggling quietly, they snuck into the room but the quiet was broken when the raven-haired girl exploded with laughter. She was silenced by the piercing glare she received from Madame Giry. The giggles quieted into muffled twitterings between the girls. 

After an hour of stretching and warming up, the Ballet Rats fled into the wings to await their cue, but the trio of girls got stopped by the Ballet Mistress. "Calista, Christine, Meg," her glare slipped from the bowed raven head to the brunette to the blonde. "You will be on time tomorrow or you will not perform, understand?" Calista, Christine, and Meg bobbed their heads in unison and scurried into the wing on stage right.

"We really have to get up earlier," Christine moaned, stretching her arms high above her head, "I think I pulled a muscle when I fell out of bed this morning. Running to the dressing room didn't help any." She dropped onto the floor and rubbed her calf muscle wearily.

"Mademoiselle Daae, I don't believe a ballet dancer would dance with dust on her rump," a handsome male voice wafted over them and Christine guiltily stood up and brushed herself off enlisting Meg's help in making sure her "rump" was dust free.

"Colin!" Calista squealed. She ran over to the tall, green-eyed man and gave him air kisses on both cheeks before attempting to ruffle his reddish brown hair. "Ick," cringing, Calista drew back holding her hand out in front of her like a piece of dirty laundry.

Colin, Christine, and Meg laughed heartily as Calista hopped around the various props and dancers while shaking her hand frantically. "That's the same thing Michael did when he was telling me good morning," raising his voice a little to be heard over Carlotta's squawking, Colin turned toward Christine and Meg.

"Where is he anyway?" Christine asked, "Are we still going to lunch before the performance?"

"Of course we are darling," once again a male voice floated them, causing Colin's eyes to light up and Christine and Meg to turn around as Calista's twin brother, Michael, walked over to the little group and slid his arm around Colin's waist, placing a quick peck on his cheek.

"Good," Meg said firmly, "my ears are going to kill after Carlotta sings 'Think of Me' and I will want something to distract me for the horrific pain in my ears. Preferably some of that bread from that bakery down the street," she closed her eyes dreamily, "God it smelled good."

"Meg you think any food smells good." Christine cuffed Meg on the back of the head.

"Yeah," Calista added, stopping her dance to join the clique. "You think that the crap they serve us is good." Meg blushed and looked at the floor. Often, her mother told her that if she didn't quell her love of food, she would be seen as a pig and be unable to find a suitable husband. God only knows what a tragedy that would be.

"_It's sad to find the land we love threatened once more by Roma's far reaching grasp,"_ Piangi sang, imitated by his little midget man.

Monsieur Reyer interrupted the two men with a tap on his music stand and a loud "Gentlemen!"

Christine rolled her eyes as she watched Carlotta flounce over to her little white poodle and pet it carefully with her gold painted hands.

"And here we are rehearsing for a production of Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'." A middle-aged graying man led two men onto the stage.

"Monsieur Lefevre, we are rehearsing!" Reyer cried exasperated.

"Monsieur Reyer, Madame Giry," glancing back at the two men who were ogling at the Rats, Lefevre sighed. "There have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I'm here to tell you that these rumors are all true. Now please allow me to introduce your new managers, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre."

Colin rolled his eyes, "God, with new managers the ballet girls will be flaunting their 'skills'," withering under the girls glares, he amended quickly, "You know I don't mean the three of you."

"But we so love to see you squirm!" Calista chirped cheerfully, pinching his cheek.

Rolling his eyes that were an identical blue to his sisters, Michael finished for Colin, "And Carlotta will have the new patron on his hands and knees, poor fellow."

"I wonder if Piangi will feel threatened…" Meg mused.

"The Vicomte de Changy!" Monsieur Andre exclaimed excitedly.

"Excuse me," a man with shoulder length medium blonde hair put his hands on Christine's shoulders and moved past her. Christine breathed in sharply and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she gazed after the man. "It's Raoul," she breathed.

"Who?" Michael asked.

"You know the Vicomte?" Confused, Calista's eyes darted back and forth between Christine and the Vicomte Raoul de Changy.

"When we were children, at the house by the sea, I guess you could say that we were childhood sweethearts. He used to call me Little Lotte."

"Oh Christine, he's so handsome," Meg squeezed Christine's hand.

Raoul finished talking about how he and his parents loved the arts, and then he was introduced to Carlotta and Piangi. Raoul apologized for interrupting rehearsal and he walked out, brushing past Christine once again.

She looked down at her feet, "He wouldn't recognize me."

"He didn't see you." Meg consoled gently.

"Like that's any better?" Calista muttered.

The orchestra began to play and the dancers trooped dutifully onto the stage while others waited in the wings for their cues. While the rats were dancing, Madame Giry led the managers to the side of the stage.

"As you can see, we take a particular pride in our ballet," she raised her voice to be heard over the music.

Andre's eyes widened as they fell on Meg, "Especially that little blonde angel."

"My daughter, Meg Giry," Madame Giry's voice held a slight warning tone that Andre seemed to miss b the way his eyes followed Meg around the stage.

"And that exceptional beauty," Firmin's eyes came to rest on Christine.

"And that raven haired nymph," Andre breathed as Calista danced past him.

"Calista Ames," Madame Giry pointed, "and Christine Daae," she pointed again.

"Did you say Daae? No relation to the famous Swedish violinist?"

"His only child, orphaned at seven, she came here to live and train in the ballet dormitories. Gentlemen, this way if you please," Ushering the men to the side, Madame Giry made sure that the dancers had ample room for their quick turns and leaps.

"_Hear the drums, Hannibal comes!"_ Carlotta sang along with the chorus as Piangi tried, and failed, to mount the fake elephant. The orchestra played the last note and Carlotta screamed in fury, "ALL THEY WANT IS THE DANCING!"

"Well the Vicomte is excited for tonight's gala." Lefevre addressed the managers.

Steaming, Carlotta stalked over to them and pointed her finger, "I hope, he is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers, because_ I _will not be SINGING!" Carlotta spun on her heel and began storming off stage.

"What do we do?" horrified, Andre looked at Lefevre.

"Grovel, grovel," exasperated, he gestured and Andre scurried off after Carlotta, followed by Firmin and Lefevre.

"Why exactly are you retiring?" Firmin questioned.

"My health," Lefevre stated simply.

Calista rolled her eyes as the managers shuffled after the diva. "What did I tell you?" Michael asked, rubbing his chin absentmindedly, smearing the red pain on his face. Colin wiped it off and turned toward the girls shrugging.

"Prima Donna, the world is at your knees!" Meg sang in a singsong voice.

Christine giggled, "Kiss my feet, bring me my poodle, fix my hat, and spray my throat-"

"SH! Quiet! Very quiet!" all of a sudden, Carlotta was better and was singing again. "_Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goooooooooooooooood bye."_

"Did you swap out her throat spray?" Calista sidled up to Christine who nodded slightly, smirking.

"_Remember me once in a while; please promise me you'll try! And when you find that once again you long to take your-"_ suddenly everyone screamed, interrupting a loud "CO-ACK!" that came out of Carlotta's mouth. A large prop seemed to fall out of the sky and it landed right on top of Carlotta, knocking her to the floor. "I HATE YOU!" she squalled.

Pouting, Calista looked at Christine and Meg who both looked a bit put out, "Did you hear it?"

"Barely," Meg muttered.

"Signora, these things do happen," lamely, Firmin tried to soothe the extremely frazzled diva.

As if she could hardly believe what they were saying, for a moment, Carlotta stood there mouth agape just staring at the shocked men.

"She looks like a fish," Med whispered, but she was mostly drowned out by Carlotta's rant.

"For the past three years these things do happen, and did you stop them from happening? NO! And you two! You are as bad as him! These things do happen. Mah, ugh! Until you stop them from happening THIS THING DOES NOT HAPPEN!" she shouted her goodbyes and left the stage with her "people" scurrying after her.

After Piangi insulted the managers with an "Amateurs!" and followed Carlotta, the managers started shouting about refunding a full house and having to cancel the gala.

Meg, Christine, and Calista had to hold onto each other and Colin and Michael to keep from collapsing. "Was she talking about the falling props?" Meg gasped, only making everyone laugh harder when they thought about all the things they had done to Carlotta in the past. Swapping her throat spray, putting green dye in her face powder, or stuffing the toes of her shoes were favorites.

"I have no idea," still breathing hard, Colin answered Meg.

"Christine Daae could sing for you messieurs." Christine's head jerked up as she heard Madame Giry say her name and touch her bare shoulder.

"I can what?" she whispered.

"She has been taught by a great teacher." Christine turned around with wide eyes and looked at Madame Giry, how could the ballet mistress have known?

"Who?" one of the managers asked her.

"I do not know his name monsieur."

"It cannot hurt," Andre said quietly, gesturing for Christine to step to the front of the stage.

"From the beginning of the aria then please mademoiselle." Aggravated, Reyer fought to keep his tone under control and the orchestra began.

Andre this is doing no thing for my nerves," Firmin muttered.

"Well at least she's pretty."

Christine's stomach knotted in a million places and she waited a second for her cue, "_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good bye." _The auditorium fell silent and everyone seemed to lean toward Christine. Calista and Meg had ear to ear grins as did Colin and Michael. "_Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try! When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment spare a thought for me!" _

The orchestra stopped and Christine fidgeted for a moment, not looking at anyone, then applause exploded and Meg and Calista tried to squeeze Christine to death.

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**Hey darlings. New story! YAY! I desperatly hope that you all like it and I promise that I will get an epilouge up for TMMW promise promise promise! It just might take a while... But anway please review! Tell me what you all think about this one.  
Much love  
Kat  
PS: I wrote this and I didnt have the exact words so I hopeI got close... Sorry about that...**


	2. Chapter 2

"Doll, why didn't you tell us you could sing like that?" The group of friends sat at a café table under the shade of a pink and cream umbrella. In response to Michael's question, Christine only shrugged and sipped at her tea. "You are incredible, how did you find this teacher?"

"He more or less found me," Christine muttered.

"But-"

"I don't want to talk about it okay!" She snapped, leaving everyone surprised.

They sat there for a moment before Calista broke the silence, "Nervous?"

Christine laughed and smiled for the first time in an hour, "That would be an understatement and a major one too." With the tension broken, the table was filled with laughter as they finished eating flaky croissants, dainty sandwiches, and between the five of them, a buttered baguette. When it came time to leave, they all chipped in a few francs and strolled away full and happy… mostly.

When they got back to the opera house, Christine was rushed away to her new dressing room to alter the costumes and warm up her voice then give things a quick run through. Calista linked arms with Meg and they told the two men goodbye and went up to their dormitories, where Joseph Buquet, as usual, was telling stories about the Opera Ghost.

"Like yellow parchment is his skin, a great black hole serves as the nose that never grew," the youngest group of ballet girls trembled and clung to each other in fear. "You must be always on your guard-"

"Buquet!" Calista interrupted him with a hard glare, "You know just as well as I do that the Opera Ghost is a story that you fabricated to scare little girls."

"But I've seen him."

A loud smack echoed though the room and Meg stood with a red hand and a hard glare. "Get out before I send for my mother." Buquet dropped his head and shuffled out of the room. A few of the little girls squealed and threw their arms around Meg and Calista's waists.

"Thank you!" Jacqueline squeaked in her high-pitched voice, burying her little red head in Calista's side.

"Get off." Calista snapped, pushing away the spindly arms and grumbled to her bed.

"They are only children, they wanted to thank you," a blonde haired green-eyed girl said with her eyes wide, the perfect picture of innocence.

"Anne, I do know you are a picture of perfection," Calista said, "But I, my dear, am more of a tattered tapestry. Children can keep their nasty, snot caked noses away from me." Anne stared at her and Calista made a gruesome face causing Anne to look away in disgust. Calista rummaged in a chest under her bed and came up with a half-full bottle of wine. She uncorked it, took a swig, and offered it to Meg who also took a drink. "I hate kids."

"Get used to them," Meg dragged Calista off the bed, "We have to get to the stage. I don't have any idea why we came down here in the first place." Groaning, Calista stumbled after Meg and down the stairs, but before they completely left the dormitories, a small, velvety voice whispered in Calista's ear, "Are you really sure I don't exist?" Calista glanced around and told herself she was only hearing things.

The opera went smoothly and the audience seemed to adore Christine who soaked it all up with a gracious smile. After the curtain call, roses littered the stage and were gathered up to put in Christine's dressing room, but when Meg and Calista arrived with the armloads of roses, Christine was gone!

"She's in the chapel." Meg rolled her eyes and sighing, the two girls arranged the flowers then pushed their way out of the room past the hoards of people, many of whom were drunk.

They reached the stairs calling down, "Christine! Christine!" Careful not to trip over their pointe shoes, they made their way down the stairs. Christine sat on the floor in front of them with her white skirts pooled around her and her crystal flowers still stuck in her hair.

"Why in the world have you been hiding?" Meg knelt at Christine's side.

"You were perfect," Calista cooed, kneeling on the other side.

"I only wish I knew your secret."

"Who is your teacher?"

"While my father lay dying he said 'When I am in heaven child, I will send an angel of music to you.'" Christine's eyes were bright as she relayed this choice piece of information.

Calista bit the inside of her lip and glanced at Meg then back at Christine, "Christine, do you believe? Do you believe the spirit of your father is coaching you?"

"Who else could it be? Who?" Christine's eyes dimmed as if she was in a trance, "Father once spoke of an angel who I used to dream would appear," Christine rocked back and forth, talking in a sing-song voice, "now as I sing I can sense him and I know he's here." Worriedly, Meg and Calista helped Christine to her feet while she while she was still talking. "Here in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he is an unseen genius."

"Christine you must have been dreaming," Meg murmured.

"Stories like this cant come true." Calista agreed.

"Christine you're talking in riddles,"

"And it's not like you."

"Who is this angel?" Meg whispered behind Christine's curly head, Calista only shrugged.

"He's with me even now," Christine breathed.

"Your hands are cold," Meg said distractedly.

"All around me,"

"Your face Christine, it's white," Calista put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"It frightens me," Christine turned grey.

"Don't be frightened," both the other girls chorused. They led Christine back to her dressing room where they left her sitting dejectedly in front of her vanity, with a red rose tied with a black ribbon she had found, clutched in her pale hand.

Gently, Meg closed the door and listened to the quiet click. Sighing, Calista and Meg pushed their way back to the dormitories to wait for Christine to change and come upstairs. When they got to the dormitories, Calista pulled out her wine and took a gulp, Meg declined with a shake of her head, and Calista put it away.

"Nasty habit you know."

"You do it too!" Calista snapped. Meg shrugged and they sat in silence, either reading or writing. Calista scribbled in her journal and Meg flipped the pages of her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_. Off and on for about an hour, Calista's light blue eyes would flit to the large clock beside the door, and then finally she broke the silence by slamming her journal shut.

"What?" Meg looked up from her book.

"Shouldn't Christine be back by now?"

"Probably, but she might be stuck in a throng of adoring fans." Meg said, emphasizing "adoring fans" just enough to say she was being sarcastic.

Calista looked at her with raised, worried eyebrows, then down and started braiding and unbraiding her wavy black tresses; worry lines formed between her blue eyes. Meg flipped the page of her book, starred at it hard, and then shut it sighing, "You're right, let's go see where she is." Calista grinned and stood up. She sauntered down the stairs ahead of Meg and after finding the keys, unlocked Christine's dressing room.

When Meg got inside she laughed, "You goose," she rolled her eyes at Calista.

"What?"

"You carried your journal with you!"

"Oh," glancing down at her right hand, Calista saw she was still clutching the leather bound black book in her hand, she shrugged and looked around. The room was dark and Christine was nowhere to be found.

"Christine," Meg whispered. As she looked around, a strand of light caught her eye, "Calista, come look at this," she pointed to the mirror. Frowning, Calista dug her fingers into the crevice and with Meg's help, pulled the mirror to the right just far enough that they could slip through. When they turned around, the girls found that they could see through the mirror.

"That's odd…" Meg whispered.

"It must be a trick mirror," Calista's brow furrowed, "but why is it in the diva's dressing room?" She shuddered, "I feel sorry for the creep who looks through that at Carlotta."

Giggling, they turned and began tiptoeing down the unlit corridor. The giggles quieted all too soon only leaving silence to fill the expanse. It was only broken when a rat scurried past Meg's foot and she jumped up, shrieking. The darkness stretched out in front of them into the hall, making the girls feel slightly smothered. Quiet footsteps echoed behind them and before they could break into a run, a cold, slightly knobby hand clamped down on their shoulders, Meg's right, Calista's left. All the color drained out of Meg's face and the bile rose up in Calista's throat as they were yanked around, only to look at the stern face of Madame Giry. She only shook her head and dragged them by the wrist back to the dormitory.

As soon as they were back, Calista threw herself on her bed and screamed into her pillow.

"What happened to Christine?" Meg whimpered.

"If I knew that I wouldn't be face down in my pillow now would I?" Calista snapped.

"No, I guess not…"

"Let's just get some sleep and we will find her in the morning. For al we know, she was out with the Vicomte."

"Fine,"

"Good night Meg."

"Good night Calista." And both girls fell into fitful, dream filled sleeps.

The door slammed against the thin wooden wall, startling many girls from their sleep. Christine stumbled in, closed the door, and leaned her forehead against it. After seeing that the person that had come in the room was only Christine, all the Rats went back to sleep except Meg and Calista.

After a moment, Christine's shoulders shook visibly and harsh, heaving sobs wracked through her body and she fell slumped on the floor. Her white lace dressing gown puddled around her and she drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her knees. Silently, Calista crept out of bed, padded across the floor and knelt next to Christine.

"Christine?" touching Christine's shoulder, Calista threw a worried glance at Meg who was still in a shocked state in her bed. "Christine what's wrong?"

"I hurt the angel," came the barely coherent whisper.

"What angel?" Meg asked.

"My angel, the one Papa sent me… my angel of music," fresh cries tore through Christine as Meg and Calista helped her into bed. "Angel… my angel…"

"Rest Christine," Calista pulled the covers over her shaking friend, Christine only rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Meg pulled off her nightgown and changed quickly into a pale blue dress and scurried out of the room to fetch her mother. Calista followed suit, changing into a burgundy and cream dress then plaiting her wavy black tresses into a simple French braid.

"Calista?" Christine whispered, still facing the wall.

"Yes Christine?"

"I am so confused."

"Why?"

"I don't know… I just don't know."

"Sleep Christine," Calista said gently, "I will wake you soon."

"Thank you," Christine yawned.

"You're welcome."

Calista sat on her bed and pulled out her trunk to look for her journal, but when her hand came up empty, she panicked. "It's gone!"


	3. Chapter 3

Calista's breathing became erratic as her eyes darted around the room, searching every shadow for her journal. The room seemed to get smaller and the gentle hush of Christine's breathing echoed in Calista's ears as she ripped through her trunk, throwing things all over her bed.

"Where… is… it?" she sat back on her heels and shoved her hair out of her troubled eyes. Biting back tears, Calista slipped out of the dormitories. She hurried past the entrance hall where Carlotta seemed to be throwing yet another tantrum, past the practice rooms, both music and ballet, sped around the auditorium, and stopped at Christine's dressing room. The steady beat of approaching footsteps warned Calista that she must hurry. With clammy hands, Calista jiggled the door handle, only to find it was locked as it should be.

Ready to cry, Calista turned around to sulk back up to the dormitory, but a gentle creak caught her ear and she turned to watch the door open all by it's self.

Despite chills that ran up and down her spine, causing goose bumps to ripple over her body, Calista went inside. The things that her journal held were too important to her, things she hadn't even told her foster family. And things she probably never would.

Christine and Meg thought that she was adopted when she was a baby. Calista had told them she ran away and came to the opera house when she was ten (about the same time as Christine). It made Calista feel bad, but she didn't want everyone to know that she had both of her parents (most of the girls only had one if they had any at all), kept in touch with them, and had grown up in a circus. Her parents had Calista at a young age. Her mother had been twelve and her father was fourteen. Calista was never told by her parents, but for some reason, one of the flexible people found unspeakable joys in telling her, at least once a week, that she was the product of a lusty tumble in the hay.

Whatever the case, her parents married and loved her as parents should. Although her parents seemed to love each other, they didn't seem to be _in love_. But then again, not many married couples were in love. Over all, Calista had an okay life.

When Calista turned two, her parents rejoined what some people would call a circus, others, a freak show. Her parents were acrobats. At three, it was discovered that Calista had a talent for voice imitation, it was raw, but it was there nonetheless. By five, Calista was the 'Echo' and she had a small corner of a tent. She could mimic people so well that people couldn't tell the difference. When Calista was six, Javert found someone new to be in the show. They called him the Devil's Child or the Living Corpse. But what Calista couldn't understand was how someone with such a divine voice could have been spawned by Lucifer himself.

The footsteps were getting louder and Calista was sure that they were headed for the dressing room. Quickly, she looked around and found her journal on the vanity with a piece of parchment and a withered white rose. Grabbing the paper, journal, and rose, Calista sprinted out of the dressing room (making sure the door was closed) and didn't stop till she was in the Chappell. She crossed over to the window ledge and sat down. Her chest heaving, she looked down at the envelope. "Mlle. Calista Ames" was scrawled across the front in childish red writing. It seemed as if the writer had learned to connect his letters recently. Calista turned the envelope over and her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the seal she had only heard of often and only seen at a glance once. A blood red skull stared up at her with empty eye sockets and a jeering, toothy smile. setting the withered rose and her journal down next to her, and glancing at the angel depicted in the stained glass window to her left, Calista slid her finger under the flap and opened the envelope.

Calista let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as she unfolded the slightly wrinkled piece of parchment inside.

_Mademoiselle Ames,_

_First, I must say you did well in Hannibal; however, your arms get sloppy as the opera goes on. If your arms hurt, either practice more and strengthen the muscles, or quit. I will not have sloppy dancers. And it would not hurt you to have a bit more expression in your face. Art is all about passion. If you don't have that, you have nothing._

_But the reason I contacted you, Mademoiselle, was your journal. As you may or may not have noticed, I am in a small state of distress. Either distress or confusion, take your pick. I wish to speak to you about the boy you first refer to as "the child" or "the boy." Meet me in box five after midnight. If you don't come to me, I will come to you._

_Until we meet,_

_O.G._

Calista felt light headed as she put the letter down and picked up the rose. The language of roses was commonly known and used by lovers and such to communicate. The less known meaning of the withered white rose was that the sender was in despair. Calista could not think of a plausible reason for the Ghost to be upset.

She ran a finger across the petals; one broke off and fluttered to rest in her lap. Sighing, she picked up the rose, journal, and letter and Calista trudged up to the dormitory. The Ghost didn't seem to give her any reason not to go. He seemed to be a gentleman, but all the stories that Calista had heard from the Rats… It gave her chills to even contemplate meeting the Ghost. What if he was the rapist Sorelli delighted in talking about? Would he shame her? Calista hadn't even believed the stories, let alone in the Opera Ghost, but now…

Shaking herself slightly, Calista opened the door to the dormitory and found Christine just as she had been when Calista left. She crossed over and shook Christine's shoulder gently.

"Christine," she murmured, "Wake up. We have to rehearse for _Il Muto_."

Christine mumbled something and her eyes fluttered open. Calista waved with a slight smile, "Come on Sleeping Beauty." Christine giggled a little and swung out of bed and stumbled to put something suitable on.

"Expression Mademoiselle Daae! You say nothing in this opera, so your face must be full of expression at all times! Your gait has to be boyish and confident. Your face must be standoffish, cocky, arrogant… When you are a maid, be surprised and demure!" Reyer snapped at Christine and slammed his baton onto his stand in front of him causing the sheet music to flutter.

"Désolé Monsieur Reyer," Christine mumbled.

"From 'Poor old fool' please."

Carlotta threw Christine a satisfied smirk and puffed her chest out, took a deep breath then began to sing, "_Poor old fool…"_

"The little-" Calista began to stalk toward Carlotta, but was grabbed by the back on her bodice by Michael.

"Pure thoughts sister, think pure thoughts." Michael smiled a little and let go.

"That puffed up witchy prima donna better keep herself under control or she is really going to be embarrassed at the performance…" Calista muttered to Meg.

"Do you have something to add Mademoiselle Ames?" Reyer interrupted Calista, "Mademoiselle Giry?" Madame Giry gave them a scathing look and they shook their heads, "From the beginning!"

Calista's face turned a shade of plum and her wig shook a little as she waited for her cue. "_They say that this youth has set my lady's heart aflame!"_

Michael shot her a warning glance then sang, "_His lordship sure would die of shock."_

Then Colin, "_His lordship is a laughing stock."_

Calista sang again, "_Should he suspect her, God protect her!_"

Then all three sang, "_Shame! Shame! Shame! This faithless lady's bound for Hades! Shame! Shame! Shame!_"

Carlotta, with a smug expression, opened her mouth to sing, "_Serafimo, your disguise is perfect! Why who can this be?"_

_"Gentle wife admit your loving husband!"_ Piangi sauntered onto the stage. Christine bustled around the stage dusting and Piangi sang again. "_My love, I am called to England on affairs of state, and must leave you with your new maid,"_ Christine shot up with a shocked expression as Piangi tapped her bottom, "Though I would happily take the maid with me."

"The old fool is leaving," Carlotta stage whispered behind her fan. "_Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!"_ Christine leaned in behind Carlotta's fan.

"Put back in your place aren't we, little toad?" Carlotta sneered before straightening back up._ "Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Time I tried to get a better, better half!"_

"I cannot stand her!" Christine ranted as she stalked around one of the practice rooms Calista, Meg, Michael, Colin and she had gathered in for dinner.

"What should we do to her to knock her down a bit?" Colin mused as he nibbled on a piece of bread from the bakery Meg seemed to crave every day.

"Swap out her throat spray performance night?" Meg offered, polishing off a croissant.

"I don't know… Don't you think that's a bit to cruel?" Michael asked.

The rest of them looked at each other and started laughing. "Psh, no!" Calista cackled.

"Fine, but if we get caught… I'm not involved." Michael said. He got up and gave everyone a hug, "I'm turning in for the night, good night everybody."

Colin stood up, "Me too," mirroring Michael's actions, they ambled out the door with very full stomachs.

"Yeah, we might as well do that too," Meg said.

"Alright," Christine sighed and followed Meg out the door, she turned around to look at Calista who was still sitting down and picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Are you coming?"

Calista's head jerked up and she stared at Christine for a moment before nodding and standing up.

The trio walked back up to the dormitory and changed for bed then slipped into their respective beds. Echoes of "Good night" raced around the room and Calista glanced at the clock, eleven o'clock. One more hour…

She waited till she was sure that Meg and Christine were asleep before changing back into her burgundy dress. She grabbed her journal and glanced at the clock, eleven forty five. With a sigh she slipped out the door and stealthily made her way to box five. Glancing around a corner, Calista stole up the stairs and into box five. She clutched her journal to her heaving chest and pulled out a silver and bronze pocket watch with her parent's initials on it. It was one of the few things of value they owned, possibly the only thing.

Holding up a candle she had brought, she looked at the time, midnight on the dot. With a small smirk, Calista put it back in her pocket and sank into one of the plush red chairs.

"Quite the admirable trait Mademoiselle," a velvety soft, deep voice floated around Calista.

She shot to her feet, dropping her journal, "And that would be?"

"Punctuality," the voice answered. "You brought your journal, good…"

Calista picked it up then stood very straight and gave the space in front of her a hard stare, "Monsieur, I find it appalling that you read my journal. These are my private thoughts and feelings-"

"And past," the voice cut her off.

"Yes and part of my past, but the point is, a journal is private and meant to stay that way, Monsieur le Fantôme. Besides, how did you just so happen to come across it?"

"You trespassed into my domain and dropped it. What would you expect me to do?"

"A return perhaps? Honestly, I thought you were a smart man." The voice was silent for a moment and Calista held her head high before she was knocked into her chair.

"Did you say man?" The voice shot back, an edge of surprised anger in its voice. Calista was silent with confusion. "Is that what you said?" She nodded mutely. T "What did you think of the boy in your journal?"

"W-what do you mean?" Calista stuttered.

"Were you repulsed by him? Afraid?"

"No, I wasn't."

"Why weren't you?"

"He sang to me."

"Sang to you?" Calista could hear the voice tremor a little, and she nodded. "Anything else?"

"Told me stories and he gave me singing lessons."

"What did you do in turn?"

"Read to him and taught him how to read and write." she trailed off with a small smile on her face.

"What else did you do?" The voice asked quietly.

"Helped him after Javert… did things," the smile fell of her face and she spat out the words.

The voice was silent for a moment before whispering, "Callie?"

French Translations:

Désolé: sorry


	4. Chapter 4

Calista stared blankly in front of her before blurting out, "What did you call me?"

"Callie,"

"How did you know my nickname?"  
A dark from stepped into the light, "Callie, it's me. It's-"

"Erik…" she breathed. They stared at each other before Calista closed the small distance between them and threw her arms around him. "I can't believe it's you," she murmured into his chest. Erik stiffened and patted her back awkwardly as she sniffed loudly as if she was crying. Then suddenly, Calista pulled back and slapped him hard across the face, knocking his mask to the floor.

"What was that for!" he yelled as he dropped to his knees, covering his face, searching for his mask.

"You left without a word. With all my parents and I had done for you… I thought you had been killed!" she looked down at him groping around on the floor for his mask and Calista snapped at him, "Don't bother, its not like I haven't seen you without it before."

Erik stood up slowly and lowered his hand from the ravaged side of his face, "I'm sorry?" It came out as a question rather than a statement. Calista only growled at him and kneed him hard in the groin, causing him to fall to the floor clutching himself. "What was that for?" he grunted.

"Good measure," Calista began to walk out of the box.

"Callie, wait!" Erik cried, his voice a little high.

"No Erik, when you have composed yourself, you know where to find me." She put the tips of her fingers to her head as if she had a headache, "Erik, give me a day to think okay? I will talk to you after the performance on the roof." Calista walked out the door and then walked back in, "Sorry about the uh… knee thing."

Erik only grunted.

After Erik had been able to stand up and wobble down to his lair, he poured himself a large glass of wine and set down in his library. He picked up a large tome and opened to his current page. The words only swam across the page. He couldn't take his mind off Calista, and probably wouldn't for a while due to the throbbing bruise she left on his cheek. Erik envisioned her as the eight year old he saw last; a sweet, even, if slightly bucktoothed smile, warm blue eyes, soft black curls framed her face… But now… Calista had grown out of her baby fat and shot up almost two feet. The swell of her chest and the curve of her hips drew his attention away from her face more than a few times. Callie had certainly grown up.

But of course, she didn't compare to his angel.

"Christine…" Erik sighed and finished his wine before going to work on _Don Juan Triumphant_.

Calista slumped into her bed for a few hours of sleep before the final dress rehearsal. The last thought on her mind was _Erik _and her lips wrapped around his name as she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

"Look at Calista," a whisper stirred Calista from a deep, pleasantly dream filled sleep. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at the wall, deciding to feign sleep.

"I know," Christine whispered, looking at Meg, "Do you think she met a lover?"

_A childhood one perhaps,_ Calista thought ruefully.

"Maybe…" Meg said.

"Do you think she did anything scandalous?"

"Of course I did!" Calista rolled over laughing, "And while I was out I shaved my eyebrows off."

Meg squinted, "Really? Hm, so how is your mysterious lover?"

"Is he a steamy, passionate lover?" Christine asked wide-eyed.

"You know I wouldn't want it any other way," Calista whispered, sitting up. Christine and Meg's eyes widened at the same time and the laughs dropped away from their faces at the same time. "What's wrong?" Calista asked. "Don't you want to know how passionate my lover is?"

Christine pointed behind Calista. Slowly, Calista turned around only to come face to face with Madame Giry. Her eyebrow as raised with a questioning expression on her face.

"A passionate lover, Calista, could be the end of your career here," she said.

"I was joking Madame Giry," Calista choked out.

"Is that why you are still dressed?"

"Um… well… you see-"

"I don't want to hear it, just change, and be on stage in twenty minutes." Giry sighed and hobbled out.

Christine and Meg erupted into peals of laughter as Calista buried her red face in her hands. "You should have seen your face!" Meg howled.

"Shut up," Calista moaned.

The girls quieted soon after and hurried onstage. Rehearsal went smoothly and soon the girls and Michael and Colin were strolling in the park, talking about their scheme.

"Okay Meg, after you go off stage, you pull the switch, alright?" Christine instructed.

"Yeah," Meg nodded.

Calista yawned as everyone else murmured about how Carlotta would react. "Sorry," she grinned sheepishly, "I'm really tired."

"She has a mysterious lover," Christine whispered to Michael.

"And is this a lover I would approve of?" Michael asked with raised eyebrows.

"I don't have a lover." Calista muttered darkly.

"My, aren't we bitter?" Christine laughed.

"Not at all, but you see, I really don't have a lover." Christine flushed crimson all the way to her chocolate roots.

"Is this a lover I would approve of?" Colin teased.

"You would disapprove of the Vicomte?" Meg gasped, faking shock.

"Raoul is not my lover, friend maybe, but not lover. Not even friend… I don't know." Christine stumbled over her words, causing everyone to laugh.

"Of course not," Meg giggled, "that's why you were gone so long."

"I wasn't with Raoul!" Everyone stopped at Christine's outburst. She shook her head, "I'm sorry. I'm sleep deprived and not because I have a lover." They all laughed and strolled back to the opera house.

Once inside, they ran through their parts and retreated to the dormitories. Christine and Meg laid down for a nap, but Calista took out her journal and stated sketching. A small boy that huddled in a cage with a sack over his head emerged from the page. It was similar to the rest of her drawings of Erik. Sighing, she snapped it shut and ambled out the door.

She walked through the corridors then backstage and up a rickety spiral staircase. Opening the heavy metal door, Calista welcomed the bite of the cold air as it cleared her senses. The base of Apollo's Lyre seemed as good a place as any to sit, and Calista arranged her skirts around her knees as she watched the clouds move over the Paris skyline. The sun was directly above her head when a voice spoke suddenly, "Your singing is almost worse than Carlotta's you know."

Gasping, Calista stood quickly and hit the crown of her head on the stone statue. "Ow!" she raised her hand to her head.

A large black figure swung down from the statue and stood in front of her, "Have you forgotten everything I taught you? And why are you singing soprano? You are an alto, you had to strain to hit half the notes you sang." Erik glared sternly at her, and then his gaze became confused at Calista's expression. "Calista, what's wrong? Callie… are you okay?"

Dazed, Calista took her hand off the back of her head. It was covered in a thick red liquid. She stared down at it, "Blood," she whispered and looked up with wide eyes.

"Yes- wait, what?"

"I'm bleeding," saying that, Calista fainted and was only saved from hitting the ground by Erik's cat like reflexes.

"Damn," Erik muttered and shifted his weight to better carry her to his lair.

Calista began stirring about half way to the lair. Her eyes fluttered open, but it was just as dark as when her eyes were shut. A pair of strong arms cradled her close to a muscular chest and a slightly musky, masculine sent filled her nostrils. Suddenly a sharp pain laced through Calista's head, causing her to cry out in pain.

"Sh," a voice murmured.

"Erik?"

"Yes,"

"Where are you taking me?"

"To my home, I need to look at your head."

"Oh," Calista sighed and wound her arms around Erik's and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The rest of the journey was silent.

Erik helped Calista out of the gondola and into a bedroom then went to look for some bandages and warm water. Calista looked around the room and noted the well made mahogany furniture and the warm velvet blankets she was sitting on. The bed was shaped as a swan with a gently sloping neck and kind eyes.

Quickly, Erik strode back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, "Turn around please."

"What?" Calista asked confused.

"I need to be able to access the cut on the back of your head. Turn around please." Enunciating each word slowly, Erik repeated what he had said. Calista shook her head a bit, trying to clear it and she turned around, tucking her legs up under her.

Erik slid off his leather gloves and parted Calista's hair away from the bloodied area. He dipped a rag in the warm water and gently cleaned the cut. After inspecting it, Erik wrapped her head in a light bandage and Calista turned around to face him.

"It was pretty shallow, so you can take the bandage off before the performance tonight, but be careful not to hit it again. It will be sore for a few days."

Calista smiled, "Thank you."

"It was nothing," Erik got up to leave.

"Erik,"

"Yes Callie?"

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You surprised me and I wasn't thinking very straight… Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Erik smiled slightly and silence stretched between the two. Calista sat playing with the pleats and lace of her dress and Erik was studying her profile comparing it to the child he knew before.

"Do you go up to the roof often?" Calista asked.

"Whenever I feel the need to think or clear my head, and since that is quite often, yes I suppose I do."

Calista nodded, "How come I have never seen you then?"

"If I do not wish to be seen, I am not seen."

"Have you seen me before?"

After a pause for thought, Erik nodded, "Yes, but I never made the connection it was you because you have changed so much."

Calista gave a dry laugh, "Yes I have haven't I?"

Erik nodded again then said, "Come, you should go back."

Calista let Erik lead her up to the main level of the opera house, and she kissed his exposed cheek, "Thank you!"

"You are welcome…" Erik's brow furrowed at the unexpected contact and he watched as Calista flounced away, the white of the bandage in sharp contrast with the dark raven color of her hair.

A few hours passed till it was time for the opera to start. The auditorium was full of the sounds of the upper crust of Parisian society shuffling about, getting to their seats, and gossiping amicably. In the orchestra pit, the musicians were warming up their instruments and behind the curtain, the dull roar of actors, dancers, and stagehands getting ready filled everyone's ears.

Erik stood in the shadows of the catwalks as he surveyed his world below him. He had written a few last minute letters one in particular to Reyer, detailing the pitch of the music. But much to his dismay, Carlotta had wormed her way past his threats and was going to be the Countess. _A disaster beyond their imagination shall occur._ His words rang in his head. He actually hadn't planned anything because to the extent of his knowledge, he had the managers cowed into doing anything he asked… or commanded. _New managers must be broken. _He thought, and slipped away to think of a "disaster" as he had promised.

"Me… Me…" Carlotta stretched her vocal cords as her throat was sprayed to her satisfaction.

Meg, Christine, and Calista stretched languidly and waited till it was time to get in place. When the managers slipped out to talk to the audience, everyone got into place.

"Co-Ack," Christine muttered before she sauntered off, assuming her role of Serafimo. Calista and Meg giggled and Calista slipped between Michael and Colin, and Meg tiptoed to her place as the maid.

Calista swayed in time to the overture and as it went into the introduction, she noticed it was lower. It wasn't being played for a soprano; it was for an alto… _Erik… _she thought. She sighed a bit as the curtains opened and she looked at Michael and Colin with a slight smirk on her face before starting.

"_They say that this youth has set my lady's heart aflame!" _ Calista's rich alto voice poured over the audience, causing them to titter with excitement. Usually only sopranos got solo singing parts at the Opera Populaire unless the music specifically called for that. It was quite a pleasing change to hear a rich tone instead of a shrill one such as Carlotta's.

"_His lordship sure would die of shock."_

_"His lordship is a laughing stock." _Colin scoffed

_"Should he suspect her God protect her,"_

_"Shame, shame, shame, this faithless lady's bound for Hades… shame, shame, shame."_

Calista watched on as Carlotta sang to Christine and she felt her head twinge under the weight of the powdered white wig she was wearing.

"_Gentle wife admit your loving husband."_

_Gentle wife, pah! _ Calista thought. The midget stumbled over to stage right and Calista gave him a hard glare, "Don't you dare," she hissed and he slunk back a bit.

"_Time I tried to get a better, better half." _Carlotta trilled.

"_Poor fool, he doesn't know. If he knew he'd never go!"_

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept _empty?" _A loud voice rang out and echoed around the auditorium.

"He's here the Phantom of the Opera." Meg whispered.

"It's him." Christine breathed.

"Erik," Calista growled.

"Your part is silent little toad!" Carlotta snapped at Christine.

The audience's whispers grew in volume and Carlotta tried to calm them down after spraying her throat liberally. The trio of girls smirked at each other and Colin and Michael only rolled his eyes as if praying to Heaven for this to be a secret.

"_Serafimo away with this pretense you cannot speak but kiss me in my…" _ An animalistic sound came from Carlotta's throat as if her throat had gone suddenly dry. After a few more futile attempts at singing, she ran off the stage crying, sending everyone else into peals of laughter.

Calista looked up at the catwalks and saw Erik smirking down at her; she smiled up at him, getting a rare smile in return.

The heavy red curtains drew in front of the stage and Firmin and Andre bumbled out, from behind the curtain they could be heard apologizing to the crown and Firmin's hand shot back onto the stage and caught a hold of Christine "The performance shall continue in ten minutes time… when the role of the countess shall be played by Christine Daae." A deafening roar rose up from the crowd.

"Meanwhile, we would like to give you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera." Andre stuttered. Upon those words, Calista and Meg ran backstage to tear off their current costumes and slip into their ballet ones.

Once they came back out, they found the dancers to be a bumbling mess as the sheep weren't cooperating and the actors had to sprint across stage to fix things. Calista closed her eyes as she recalled the dance steps and let them take her away for a few minutes till she was yanked to the side by Meg and screams of horror rung through the opera house.

"What?" she asked Meg, confused.

"Look," Meg pointed, eyes wide with horror. Calista followed her finger and looked upon the dead gaze of Joseph Buquet.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: I am really sorry about the weak ending on this one. But read on and please review!

* * *

Calista's mouth fell open and she looked up into the catwalks where she saw Erik looking down with an expression that mirrored hers. The whole theatre was in pandemonium as Firmin attempted to shout at everyone that it was only and accident and for them to stay in their seats, Andre however, was only trying not to vomit all over the red chairs._

The Ballet Rats and singers raced out of the wings, trying to get away from Buquet's glassy gaze. Meg tugged at Calista's arm, "Come on!" Still looking at Erik, Calista followed Meg. Many of the Rats ran to Madame Giry, Meg among them, "Maman, what is going on?" she cried.

"Hush," Madame Giry scanned the crowd, looking for someone. Christine tore out of her dressing room and rushed to Raoul.

"Raoul," she said frantically, "we aren't safe here!" Christine pulled him toward the winding staircase that Calista had traveled up only hours ago.

No one noticed that Calista had left only minutes before Christine, headed up that same staircase.

_The roof, the roof, he said when he needs to think he will be on the roof._ The words jumbled themselves in Calista's mind as the masks on the walls seemed to mock her, and the props seemed to jump out of their places, trying to hinder her in her frenzied quest to reach the roof.

She threw open the iron door and this time, she was without a cloak, so the cold air was not quite so welcome. "Erik," Calista whispered to the seemingly empty air. "Erik, come out, please." The wind was the only sound she could hear; it howled and screamed in the statues ears and pulled at Calista's sheer ballet costume. It felt as if sharp knives were stabbing her arms and legs, and a deep ache settled in her chest and stomach as she started shivering. "ERIK!" Calista cried out as loud as she could, but the wind only seemed to rip the word from her mouth. "So cold," she muttered to herself. "Erik, please come out."

Calista stood there for a moment, and looked around, hoping for a glimpse of a white mask. But after a few minutes, her eyelids began growing heavy. She stumbled over to a statue of a Pegasus and crawled onto the pedestal it was on, and curled up into a ball in the relative safety of its sheltering legs and cold body, and she closed her heavy eyelids.

Raoul burst onto the roof as Christine carefully shut the door behind her. "Christine, talk sensibly, there is no Phantom of the Opera."

"Raoul I have seen him. I have been down to his home." Christine glared at her lover, disbelieving that her childhood sweetheart would not just listen to her and take what she said for the truth.

"Christine, I am telling you there is no Phantom-"

"Don't patronize me Raoul!" Christine snapped at him, turning her back, and crossing her arms over her chest.

Raoul sighed heavily and walked over to Christine as the wind died down to a soft, but cold breeze. "Christine," he whispered.

"You don't understand. He… he is my Angel." Snow began to fall on the pair.

"Dearest, you are cold and tired, you aren't talking rationally."

"You are doing it again," warning him, Christine broke away and turned slowly to gaze at Raoul with tears in her eyes. "Raoul, he is the closest thing I have to a father. I have had to grow into a woman so fast; he helped me hold onto a part of my past. He taught me how to sing, and he comforted me with gentle words when I mourned my father, or when I was having problems with the ballet steps. Every night, I heard his voice, and every night, I had dreams of my dear father. He kept me happy.

"Then, after Hannibal, after you came, he brought me down to his home-"

"He didn't do anything did he?" Raoul interrupted.

"No, of course not, he is a perfect gentleman. But I fainted and when I woke up, curiosity overcame me, and I took the mask off his face," Christine paused, "I cannot even describe what it was like. The poor man only has half a face."

"Do not worry Christine, I will protect you." Raoul enveloped Christine in an embrace.

"Raoul I don't need to be protected, I only wish for you to love me." Christine muttered into his chest.

"What did you just say?"

"Raoul, I don't need to be protected, he would never harm me. I only have a wish for you to love me. He loves me, but I cannot love him like that. My heart already belongs to you."

"Oh Christine, can you promise me something?" Raoul's features began to radiate joy and love.

"What?" Christine looked up at Raoul with a slight smile on her face.

"Say you'll share with me one lifetime; tell me you need me with you, here, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too." Raoul cupped Christine's face between his hands.

"Tell me you love me."

"You know I do."

"Tell me."

"Christine, I love you."

"Good." Slowly, Raoul leaned down and pressed his lips gently to Christine's.

* * *

_I gave you my music, made your song take wing, and now, how you've repaid me, denied me, and betrayed me._ Erik sank to the ground as Christine and Raoul went back into the Opera House. He picked up the rose that she had so carelessly dropped as Raoul kissed her. Erik kissed the petals as tears ran down his face, then as anger coursed through him, he ground the rose between his fingers. Shuddering with rage, Erik let out a yell that seemed to stop the snow for a moment, and then he heard a thump from the statue he was standing behind. Slowly, Erik reached inside his cloak and took out his Punjab lasso, and then with all the stealth and grace he possessed, Erik made his way to the front of the statue.

A woman in a ballet costume lay in a heap on the ground, her chest barely rising and falling. Her black hair was strewn over her face, distorting any view of it Erik could have. With growing apprehension, he moved the hair away from her face and was shocked at who he found. Calista, with blue lips and skin as white as snow, lay on the ground, unconscious.

"Callie?" Erik put away the lasso and shook her shoulder, trying to wake her.

Calista's blue eyes opened a bit and she looked blearily up at Erik, "Erik, you came. It's so cold."

"Yes, I know," Erik took off one of his glove and touched her face, the skin was ice cold and Calista started to close her eyes again.

"So cold," she murmured.

"Callie, try and keep your eyes open. I am going to take you back down to my home and we are going to get you all fixed up." Erik put his glove back on and hoisted Calista up into his arms.

Erik rushed down to his lair and in less than fifteen minutes, he was placing Calista on the swan bed that was still intended for Christine. With averted eyes, he took off her costume and put her in a soft nightgown that was once again, intended for Christine. After arranging the blankets around her, Erik put a hand on her forehead. No longer was Calista ice cold, but she was burning with fever. Erik looked around the room for a moment before getting a jug of cool water and a rag. He bathed Calista's face and arms, not daring to touch her neck or the barely exposed area below it. Erik had already changed her clothes and he didn't wish to invade her privacy any further.

After most of the water was gone, and Calista's breathing seemed a bit easier, Erik went in search of the ballet mistress.

"Good God," Madame Giry lowered her hand from her throat and faced Erik. "What is so urgent that you have to seek me out at midnight, after there has been a death?" She eyed him darkly.

"I didn't kill him." Erik met her gaze with a steely one of his own. "Calista is sick and I need you to do two things for me. Tell the managers and her friends she came down ill and went to visit family, and I may need your assistance if she does not wake up soon."

"_You_ need _my_ assistance?" Madame Giry asked incredulously.

Erik sighed irritated, "_If_ I do, will you help me?"

"Yes I suppose I will, but you need to leave. Go on," she shoved him out of the room and closed the door with a heavy sigh.

Erik hurried back to his lair and was relatively relieved but unhappy to find that Calista was still unconscious.

The next three days found Erik at Calista's bedside, clutching her hand, bathing her face, and generally never leaving her side except for when he thought he would pass out of lack of food. On the fourth day, just as Erik was about to get Madame Giry, Calista's eyes fluttered open.

"Erik?" she rasped, looking at him through half open eyes.

"Who else do you know that wears a mask?" Erik joked weakly.

Calista tried to laugh, but went into a harsh coughing fit. She grasped her chest at the constricting feeling and sharp pains that laced through her lungs. Erik propped her up on pillows and when she finished, and lay gasping on the bed, he ran into the other room. Calista heard some clanging, splashing, cursing, running footsteps, a bang them more splashing and cursing. Erik stumbled, or squished rather, into Calista's present room, sopping wet.

Calista put a hand to her mouth to mask a small smile before she asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Erik mumbled.

"Really Erik, what happened?"

"You'll laugh."

"Try me."

Erik mumbled something under his breath.

"What?'

"I … lake," Calista could not make out what he was saying.

"Erik speak up, really now."

"_I fell in the lake_." Erik gestured to his wet clothes, "Are you really that daft as to not figure that one out?"

"I could, I just wanted you to say it!" She choked out, giggling. Then her face became perfectly straight and she looked at him with a blank expression, "Did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Kill Buquet."

"No."

"Honestly?"

"Calista, I was trying to make him pass out. I was going to put him in Carlotta's dressing room. He struggled and slipped." Erik's eyes were full of sadness. "Please believe me."

After a moment Calista nodded, "What were you doing to fall in the lake anyway?"

The next few days passed smoothly and Calista's fever eventually broke.

"Calista?" Erik put down the empty bowl that had held a weak broth minutes earlier.

"Hmm?"

"What were you doing on the roof?"

"Looking for you."

"Why?"

"You said that whenever you needed to think, you came to the roof. I figured it would be a good time to think, so I came up to look for you and ask you if you had done it."

"Oh."

"Mmhmm." Calista nodded with a small smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Erik went to walk out of the door but thought better of it then turned around to ask "What is going on with Christine and the Viscount?"

Calista's brow furrowed, "Why?" Erik shrugged. "I'm not really sure."

"Oh because when I was up on the roof, they were pledging their undying love to each other."

Calista shook her head, "What?"

"It's true." Erik stomped out of the room.

Calista raised an eyebrow, "Erik would you know anything about Christine's angel of music?" She shouted into the other room.

"No!"

"Hmm," Calista inspected her nails, "Really? I mean, I thought you knew everything that went on in this Opera House and I really want to know who the bastard is. He really tore Christine up."

Erik came running back into the room, "Did he… did he really?"

"Mmhmm, the way Christine described how he looked he actually looks exactly like you and he lives under an opera house and oh how could I forget?"

"Forget what?"

"She said he was the Phantom of the Opera." Calista scowled at Erik.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Eep, I'm sorry about the shortness and fillerness of this chapter. I don't know how much plot will be in the next few chapters because, HA! They weren't covered in the movie. So I have to come up with something to cover a three month span but then again I could just write two more and then go to Masquerade, -sigh- Eh, I will figure it out soon. Oh and I am also sorry about the wait, I had really bad writers block and a few times I literally hit my head against the desk because I just know I have so many adoring readers! –big cheesy grin- Okay now that I am all done with my little rant thing, let the chapter begin!

* * *

_

"P-Phantom of the Opera?" Erik stuttered, kicking himself for not just telling Calista.

"Mmhmm and the thing is you are the only Phantom I know that haunts this Opera House. So with my great talent of deduction, I figure that you are the one who gave Christine lessons since she was about seven, who came to her every night in her dressing room, and who broke her into little pieces, some of which are still on the ground." Calista looked up from her nails, "So would you like to tell me what is going on between you two?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Why you didn't tell her the truth or really anything, tell me whatever I need to know."

"All you need to know is that I love her with all my heart and will do nothing to hurt her."

"And anyone that stands in your path?"  
"Depends on who they are." A muscle twitched in Erik's temple and his jaw clenched.

"Erik, come here." Calista scooted over to make room for Erik to sit down. When he did, she gently peeled his mask off the right side of his face. "What are you afraid of?"

"That she could come to love me, though I see that as unlikely because of that Raoul boy, but never be able to see past the face which Fate saw fit to bestow upon me." With a shuddering sigh, Erik leaned back onto the pillows and ran a hand across his face, closing his eyes. "How could anyone ever love me with this?"

Calista bit her lips and looked at his face. The cheekbone was hardly existent, only surfacing once, making a large bump. The flesh was thin in some places, exposing blue veins, and thick as leather in others and in some spots, there were tiny bumps, only making the skin rougher. With a feather light touch, she traced the ridges then down his jaw to his chin. "Erik, I love Christine, and I suppose you do too, but she is in love with the Viscount and I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"You mean you don't want Christine to get hurt." Erik spat with his eyes still shut.

"Well I don't want her hurt either, but in all honesty, Erik, _you_ were my first friend. _You_ were my best friend when I was a child. She is my friend now and I love her, but she can be childish. Although, she has grown up a lot recently. I don't know. All I know Erik is that if something happened to you, and it was because of her, I would probably murder her."

"Callie!" Erik's eyes snapped open and he stared at Calista who bit her lip again.

"Okay well not murder her, but do something she couldn't forget. And what were you saying about her being unable to love your face? Your face is not the defining factor in what makes you a man or what makes you Erik. Your genius does that well enough."

Erik sighed and sat up, "Thanks Callie, but you need to sleep"

"But I don't want to. And my fever is gone."

"Would you like to read?"

"Yes, please help me up."

"What would you like to read?"

"_A book_,"

"What kind of a book?"

Calista sighed, "Just help me up."

"Tell me what kind of a book, and I will help you."

"I would like to read Wuthering Heights, do you have it?"

"Yes I do, hold on a moment." Erik slipped into the other room and came back with the book. "Here, now there is no reason for you to get out of bed." Calista huffed and snatched the book away from Erik only to bury her nose in it without saying anything.

"You are welcome." Calista mumbled something similar to "thank you" and Erik walked out the door, smirking.

After a week had passed, Erik finally allowed Calista to walk around the lair, only for a short while mind, and only because she insisted her dancing would become even more deplorable if she got no use out of her legs.

"Erik!" Calista called loudly from the kitchen. I was the first day that Erik gave the go ahead for her to get up, and he already had the beginnings of a headache.

"What, Callie, is so important that you had to call me away from my book?" Erik walked into the kitchen rubbing his temples.

"This," she pointed to the cabinet, "is what is so important."

"A cabinet, just a lovely one isn't it?"

Pursing her lips, Calista swung the door open to reveal an empty tin of biscuits. "There is no food, and I unlike you and your odd eating habits, have to have at least two full meals, and often a snack."

"And you want me to…"

"Get me food." She crossed her arms. Grumbling, Erik shuffled out of the kitchen. Satisfied as soon as she heard him get into the gondola, Calista set about spiffing the place up.

Vocalizing part of something she heard Erik working on, Calista sashayed down a hall and opened a few doors. She was delighted to find that one room was empty, and even more delighted to find one full of various rums, brandies, and wines, all of the finest quality.

Sighing with happiness, Calista ambled back into the main room of the lair where the organ was, and to Calista's distaste, all of Erik's paintings and figurines were. It wasn't enough that he should have so much stuff in her likeness, he just _had_ to have it out in plain view.

Calista struggled to get the monstrous amount of paintings back into the empty room. Then a table was put in there followed by the mini stage and people. Calista had mixed emotions to find that Erik had a figurine of her. It wasn't like she was the only person he made one of, but the certain areas that he had to shape made Calista feel violated in a small way. She shrugged it off as her being insecure.

Just as she finished putting everything away, she heard Erik yelling and she ran out of the room.

"Calista what the hell did you do?" Erik's face was red and a vein was pulsing in his temple.

"Reorganized." Calista crossed her arms and frowned.

"Why?"

"I am sick of looking at your Christine shrine. I put it all in an empty room in the back so I don't have to look at it." Calista sighed and threw her hands up in the air, "If you want it all back in here, I'm not helping… although, I really wish you wouldn't."

Erik ground his teeth and stomped into his room, slamming the door shut. Calista giggled.

On the third day Erik was composing and Calista was reading a novel in a chair that gave her a clear view of Erik while he could only see her out of his peripheral vision.

Every so often, Calista would look at Erik for a few minutes and then sigh and look back down at her book, then after "reading" for a while, she would do it again. Erik didn't think much of it and kept composing, and then when he stopped to scribble the notes, the only sound in the lair was the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore, the scratching of Erik's quill, and the sighs that seemed to be getting louder.

After the sighs seemed to echo in Erik's ears, he put down the pen and turned to Calista, "Is everything alright? Are you cold? I could go get you a blanket."

"I wouldn't want to disturb you from your composing." Calista sighed again.

"Are you sure?" So far, this was the most perplexing thing Calista had done. She was so moody all of a sudden. Calista shrugged and sighed yet again, a little louder and seemed irritated.

Erik played a few more notes but was rudely interrupted when Calista slammed her book shut and jumped to her feet, causing Erik to jump with surprise.

"You are an insensitive, callous person!" Calista tore into her room, slamming and locking the door.

Erik's jaw dropped and he stared at the door. Shaking his head, he got up and knocked, "Callie, what's wrong?"

"I want to talk and you just _have_ to go on and compose your stupid opera for stupid Christine!" A sob came through the door. Erik was amazed, Calista never cried. She didn't even cry when she broke her arm when she was six. Well not like this anyway.

"Callie, you didn't tell me you wanted to talk about something. Do you want to talk about it now?" He rested his head on the door and put a palm to the rough wood.

"No! Go away and leave me alone!" More sobs came through.

Erik muttered some curses and looked toward the lake at the sound of boots clicking on the stone. Madame Giry stood there with her head cocked to the side and raised eyebrows.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"Yes, but I don't know what it is." Erik sulked back to his organ and sat down, "Callie is all moody, she won't talk to me even though she wants to talk, she doesn't want me to compose, and she doesn't want me to think about Christine. She has been like this for a week! Callie won't let me make any food; it all has to be prepared her way. All of a sudden she is craving chocolate. She made me go up at one in the morning to get her some because she couldn't sleep and now she is mad at me because her dresses are snug and she says it is my fault because I got her the chocolate. But if I don't get it for her she gets mad at me! Antoinette, what the hell am I supposed to do?" Erik looked pleadingly at Madame Giry and was shocked to see her chuckling a little. "What is so funny? I am going though hell!"

"Oh Erik," Madame Giry shook her head, "You would think with all the books you read that you would have some knowledge of women when it comes to this."

"What is this?" He ground out between his teeth.

"Their monthly cycle is what." Erik flushed a deep shade of red and stuttered for a moment before closing his mouth.

"Oh."

"Yes, don't worry though, the mood swings will stop in a few days, and she will be back to normal." Madame Giry patted Erik on the shoulder.

"And normal is not much better." Erik muttered and turned back to his composing.

Madame Giry was right, in a few days Calista was back to her normal self, and she stopped the crying jags and turning from happy to mad or sad in a millisecond. Erik breathed a sigh of relief.

When Calista was fully better she was reluctant to leave the lair.

"I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!" She screamed in his face.

"WHY NOT?" Erik screamed back.

"THEY ARE A BUNCH OF MOODY LITTLE HAGS AND I HATE THEM, with the exception of a few, like Christine and Meg."

"WELL IF YOU HATE THEM SO BLOODY MUCH THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU BECOME A RAT ANYWAY?"

Calista gasped and put a hand to her heart, "That hurt, I am not a rat. You wouldn't call Christine a Rat so what makes me a Rat?" She mock pouted.

Erik began shaking in anger; he wanted his friend out of his house. His home was meant to be his sanctuary; otherwise he would live above ground where he was taunted and poked fun at incessantly. "Because I said so and this is my opera house and what I say is like law." Calista scoffed and stomped into what was now Erik's art room and came back out with a handful of Erik's Christine figurines and a candle in the other hand.

"Say I am not a Rat."

"No, and besides, I can always made another one."

"You are an insufferable pig. I am packing my stuff and leaving." Calista dropped the figurines and put the candle back where it went and huffed to her room. Truth be told, she didn't have much except a few nightgowns and dresses. So it wasn't like packing was going to be a big deal, but it seemed a formality to pack her stuff and leave with a flourish.

When Calista went into her room, Erik breathed a sigh of relief and got into the gondola to wait for Calista.

It only took about half an hour to get Calista back into the dormitories and settled, as she was putting the last of her things away, Christine and Meg came giggling into the room and when they saw Calista, they flew to her and smothered her with hugs.

* * *

_A/N: Alrighty now I would very much appreciate it if you would review. :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Okay all, this one is a lot shorter and came a lot later than I had hoped. I was out of town, then my compter was down, then I was grounded and to top that all off, this story doesnt come as fast as DOC does, so I had a case of writers block. -shrug- And just so you all know, school is starting on the fourteenth, and I am in a Gifted and Talented, Honors program for Englishand I dont know how much homework I will be getting. So I am sorry in advance for all the waiting you will have to endure in the future.

* * *

"Did you know Michael is in the ballet here?" Calista stood with her hands limp at her sides, shoulders back and staring at Erik's frustrated face. _

"No, now do scales." He tapped a key on the organ.

"Why don't you ever say hi?" Absentmindedly, Calista picked at a loose thread on her simple gray skirt.

"Because, do scales," Erik tapped the key again.

She sang the note then resumed talking, "I don't think that is very nice, I mean, I was your friend and I am hurt that you never noticed it was me."

"You know very well why I didn't, correct your posture."

Calista stood up straighter and put her shoulders back, "Yes, I suppose I do, but that doesn't make me forgive you."

Erik sighed and looked at the defiant tilt to her chin, "Lessons are over."

Calista rolled her eyes and sauntered into the kitchen to make dinner. She had began making Erik dinner every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night for about a month, then she was so tired one night that she just crashed while she was eating dinner. Erik put her in the swan bed and she just began to stay the night on Friday and Saturday. She told her friends that she had a distant relative who was in town, and she hardly ever saw them and she wanted to take advantage of the time they were in town. They were slightly suspicious, but didn't think much of it because she was their friend and they didn't think that she would lie to them; besides, they had the weekend off from practice except when it came close to performance time.

* * *

"Pay attention Calista!" Madame Giry banged her cane on the floor of the stage, making a hollow thump. 

"Huh?" Calista shook her head and stared blankly at Meg's mother.

"Pay _attention_, if you will. If you have some other engagement that deserves your time more than this, I would be more than happy to let you go. The Good Lord only knows how much your performance has suffered since _Il Muto_." She fixed Calista with a pointed glare, causing her to flush as deep shade of red.

"Sorry, Madame, I was woolgathering." Calista mumbled to her feet.

"This isn't the time, and you know that, now pay attention."

"Yes ma'am."

Madame Giry gave a self-satisfied nod and turned her head to another dancer who was flirting outrageously with a stagehand, "Jacqueline!"

Meg looked curiously at her friend then back to Christine, and gestured toward Calista who was fiddling with the run in her pale pink tights. Christine brushed back a loose curl that had escaped from her tight bun at the nape of her neck and stepped toward Calista, "Are you alright?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I am fine." Calista looked at Christine's worried face then at Meg's who's mirrored the same expression. "Stop being a bunch of ninnies! I am perfectly okay, in fact, I have never felt better in my life."

Meg pouted, but her mother began shouting more instructions so they had to pay close attention.

_Sashay… pirouette… _the steps ran together in Calista's head and she fought to keep her feet from getting tangled up. _Arms in first… No wait, is it second? No it's first, but is it low first or high first?_ Tears welled up in Calista's eyes and she stopped dancing, saying some quite unladylike curses under her breath. She quickly untied her ballet shoes and threw them to the floor, only to run off the stage with her face buried in her hands.

"What is wrong with her?" A red headed, pug nosed dancer said loudly.

"Oh do be quiet wont you?" Christine snapped, raising her eyebrow pointedly.

"Oh," the dancer blushed and turned back to her own business.

Calista's mostly bare feet made soft thumping sounds as she ran down the hall and began to sprint up the winding stairs to the dormitories, but she missed a step and slid down a few steps. Tears streaming down her face, she turned over to sit on a step and examine her stinging legs and arms, she had even hit her chin, causing her to bite her tongue, and blood to fill her mouth. Calista spit the blood out on the stairs and stared at it with a bitter expression. Her hands were scraped up, her chin ached, her tongue burned, and her legs and knees were cut, so therefore, her tights were more ruined than they had been.

_What is the matter with me?_ Calista thought as she pulled out a sliver of wood from her hand, causing herself to cringe.

"What did you do you goose?" Meg tripped up the stairs with her ballet shoes in one hand and Christine following closely behind her.

"What does it look like I did? I _fell_." Calista quipped sarcastically and narrowed her eyes a little.

"Wow, is that what you did?" Christine's sarcasm matched Calista's, and she faked surprise for a moment. "I don't believe we could have ever figured that one out."

"Well then why did you ask?" Calista snapped. She was in pain and confused, they weren't helping much.

"Well at least we aren't laughing!" Meg sat down next to her, "If I had fallen, you would have laughed at me!"

Calista giggled, "Yes, I would have, wouldn't I?" Christine and Meg nodded, smiling.

"Come on," Meg helped Calista up, "Let's go get you cleaned up."

Calista allowed them to help her hobble up the stairs because now that she thought about it, her legs really did burn… a lot. All she had to do was sit still, and her friends cleaned her cuts and bandaged the worst of them. The stinging subsided a little and they went to the dining hall to eat and bring back some food for her.

Sighing, she got out her journal and started writing.

_Confusion was running on high today. I stormed out of practice and then proceeded to fall and cut my arms and legs. It was quite graceful. But the whole reason I am confused, is because of Erik. I don't know what to make of him anymore. He is enamored with Christine, but the Vicomte is courting her even if she _insists_ he isn't. I don't believe her, but it isn't my problem. I know that if it came down to choosing, Christine would choose the Vicomte. She doesn't love Erik, not like a lover anyway. She doesn't really even know him, she used to think he was the Angel of Music, then he went and showed her that he was a human, and they both made a mess of things the next morning (Christine stripped him of his mask, and in the best terms, he flew into a rage). I don't know if I am angry or happy about that because I think-_

A soft thump startled Calista from her writing and she slammed her journal shut as she looked at the face that wore a mask that could only belong to one person. _Erik_ was in her room, the ballet dormitories… in the middle of the day!

"What are you doing?" Calista's eyes scanned the room frantically for any little ballerina that forgot her shoes or something of the like.

"Would I come down here if I was not positive it was safe to do so?" Erik sat on her bed cross-legged and raised his visible eyebrow.

Suddenly, Calista flushed, she realized she was still in her leotard! "I suppose not," she mumbled. "Can you go away now?"

Erik looked taken aback, "Excuse me?"

"I am hardly dressed to receive company." She responded primly.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, "I will be back once you have changed."

"But you wont watch will you?" Calista's blush deepened as she realized she never needed to ask that question, "Never mind, I know you won't."

"I'm glad to see someone trusts me a bit." Erik said dryly.

"Well what reason do you give people to trust you?" Calista scrambled around, getting her under things and dress, then went behind a dressing screen.

"What do you mean?"

"You are the Phantom of the Opera, you terrorize little kids, you threaten to burn the House to the ground, somehow you throw your voice around and make people think that they are crazy, and for some reason you like to sabotage Carlotta's makeup and throw props at her."

"Now, Callie, do not blame me for the makeup because I know everything that goes on in the grounds, and I know that you and Christine and Meg have fun playing in the witch's makeup."

Calista poked her head around the screen, "Could you tighten my corset, this is _not _a one person job." She put on a mask of nonchalance and fought a blush as Erik came behind the screen, moved her silken hair off her pale neck and tightened her corset then went back to where he was sitting.

"Who in the world thought up those contraptions is utterly insane." Erik said, shaking his head.

"I think it was a man, and who are you to call anyone insane?"

Erik shrugged and looked at Calista who came out in a simple grey dress with white cuffs on the tight sleeves and a high collar that was accented with white buttons, which also went down the back of her dress.

"I can't get all the buttons," she turned around and let Erik button the rest, the whisper of his calloused fingertips against her back and neck sent little shock waves through her body and she shivered a little. _Stop it,_ she commanded herself.

"Are you cold?"

"A little," Calista shrugged and turned around, because she really wasn't but why else would she shiver?

"Do you want my cloak?" Erik moved to take it off, but she shook her head.

"No, thank you." They stood in silence. Calista mentally scrambled to find a subject, "Oh, did you know there will be a masquerade on New Year's Eve?"

"Yes, I plan on making an appearance there." Erik said dryly.

"By yourself?"

"No, I will have a whole entourage of beautiful women at my side as I terrorize the managers yet once again." He raised an eyebrow and Calista laughed.

"You can't go by yourself."

Erik's brow furrowed, "What?"

"I will go with you."

"What?"

"I want to go with you, I don't have any suitors to take me, and I would just sit by the wall, dancing with an old man occasionally. Madame Giry dances with more men than I do. I hate masquerade balls. I only get to go because I am Madame Giry's 'adopted' daughter, even though I am not."

"Oh, well then I suppose so."

"Yay!" Calista threw her arms around Erik's neck and gave him a huge hug, and just as she was giving him a kiss on the cheek, the door started to creak open.

* * *

_Yes I know, I am a spot evil, and I will say this now, I am severely dissapointed on the number of reviews I got for the last chapter, two reviews? Come on people, I know that there are more of you reading this story, but thank you to the two that did review, I really do appreciate it. So as punishment for not reviewing to all you other people, I give you an evil cliffie. :)) I do love you all though. -evil laugh-  
please reivew!  
much love  
kat_


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Okay, high school is kicking off and I am so not ready. Three weeks in and I feel like I am in wayyy over my head. sigh But do not worry, my stories are right up there in my priorities. They will be written. Study hall is proving quite useful. : )_

**_x.o.x_**

Calista pulled away and pushed Erik back with a hand on his chest. The beating of his heart and the warmth of his chest made her pulse flutter.

Erik stumbled a little and stood there watching Christine in horror. "C-Christine," he stuttered. He mentally smashed his head against a wall a few times; he should have been listening for people and not thinking about… other things.

Christine stood in the doorway with a puzzled expression, "What is going on? Calista, what are you doing with him? Angel, what are you doing here?" Her brows snapped together and her expression turned murderous, "If you hurt her…" she took a step toward him.

"Christine, do you really think that Erik would do anything to your friends?" Calista, realizing her hand was still on Erik's chest, yanked it away like she was being burned.

"Erik? You never told me your name." Christine crossed her arms and kicked the door shut with her foot, leaning against it.

"I never saw a reason." Erik's back stiffened.

"Christine, I knew Erik when I was a child; we… met up by accident a few months ago." Calista took a step toward her friend.

"You looked like you were… kissing him." Christine's brow furrowed.

"She didn't, wasn't, wasn't going to," Erik stumbled over his words.

"What if I did?" Calista whispered. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, it just kind of slipped out.

"What did you say?" Erik asked.

"I didn't say anything!" Calista clapped her hand over her mouth.

"What did you say?" Christine echoed Erik.

"Nothing," Calista shook her head.

"Calista, what did you say?" Erik asked again.

Her mouth tightened, "What if I did?"

"What?"

"I said what if I did?" She whirled on Christine, "What makes him so different from your precious Vicomte? He is no different! Damn it Christine."

"I didn't say he was!" Christine's mouth dropped open and she stared at Calista in shock.

"You implied it!"

"I did not!"

"Did!"

"Not!"

Calista stared at her friend is disbelief.

Erik laid a hand on Calista's shoulder, "Callie, its okay. She didn't imply it."

She shook her head, "Erik, just go home."

"I-"

"Please."

Erik, shaking his head, melted into the shadows.

Christine crossed to her bed and looked at the crumpled Calista, "I really wasn't implying anything. You know me better than to think I would do something that rude…" She smiled a little, "To their face anyway."

Calista fought back the lump in her throat as she collapsed on her bed. _You are overreacting._ The little voice in the back of her head poked her brain with a stick to make sure it was still working properly. It wasn't.

_So?_ She thought back, snapping the mental stick in half.

"Calista, I do love Erik, but not the way he needs me too. I think… I think I love… Raoul." Christine said hesitantly.

"You do?" Calista perked up a bit and looked at Christine who nodded.

"I- I think so. I have been so confused lately because I have feelings for them both, and I don't know what I am going to do!" She looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Christine, it shouldn't be that hard. I mean do you love one more than the other?" Calista's anger ebbed away at the sight of her friend's bowed head and sudden vulnerability. Usually, Christine was the rock of the group with her level headedness and even temper, anchoring Meg's spacey attitude and Calista's slight hot headedness. Now though, Christine was being pounded at from all sides. Raoul was trying to push her into a marriage because he wanted her safe. Erik wasn't saying anything but that was the problem; it was the knowledge that he wanted her to pick him and love him. The fact he was _always _there didn't help any. Christine wanted to leave because she had a sneaking suspicion she was putting every on in mortal danger. It just wasn't a good situation for anyone. Any way she went she would make the wrong choice in someone's eyes. Whatever choice she made she knew she would hurt someone and any choice that hurt someone wasn't the right one in her eyes. She had not right choice.

Sighing, Christine shrugged and changed the subject, "Are you going to the ball?"

Calista looked down a little and nodded, "Yes, what does your dress look like?"

Christine's weariness fell away and she started talking brightly about her dress.

**_x.o.x_**

"Okay, now, two, three, kick, turn, turn, kick, turn!" Meg mimicked her mother as they sat in the dressing room later that day.

Christine jumped up, "Poor fool he makes me laugh!" She made her voice sound high and screechy like Carlotta's.

Calista giggled and took another swig of the cheap brandy she had pilfered from the kitchens. "My lady-" she hiccupped, "My lady, you are the worst sounding toad I have ever heard. Please go and bury yourself in the swamp you were born in." Her words were interrupted by random hiccups and giggles.

Normally, what she said would not be quite so funny, but they were all so drunk that _everything _was uproariously funny.

Meg stumbled to sit down, but she fell and knocked into someone's supply of beauty products and breaking a bottle of perfume, causing yet another uproar of laughter.

"Ooh," she held her head, "I don't feel so good anymore."

Suddenly, nausea and dizziness hit the other two and Christine all but collapsed.

"Why do we always drink too much?" Calista moaned.

"Because you always get too much," Meg moaned back. She struggled to her feet, "Come on, we need to go to bed.

Christine clutched at Meg's arm and they began to wobble out the door, "Are you coming?" She asked.

"Eventually," Calista muttered. The prospect of out the door sickened her, let alone walking up stairs.

She struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Three months ago, Calista could have drunk half a bottle of that stuff and been fine. Now… not so much.

She whimpered a little as a wave of nausea rolled over her and she sank to her knees; suddenly, the floor seemed very comfortable and the doorjamb wasn't a bad headrest.

Calista sighed and closed her eyes. She could sleep right here and be fine. To hell with everyone who found gossiping to be their only hobby. Right now, she just wanted to sleep this one off.

A pounding headache was what Calista awoke to; she refused to open her eyes and felt around her with her hands. Velvet sheets, smooth headboard (unlike the splintering one in the dormitories)… _Damn_. She cursed and rolled over, retching till she had nothing left in her stomach. She could hear it splatter on a stone floor, again unlike the wooden one in the ballet dormitories. _Erik always finds me in the worst situations. This is how many times he has found me sick and brought me down here? Twice? Three times? Oh God._

A door opened and candles were lit. Calista could practically hear the disgust in Erik's expression as he loomed over her. A tantalizing smell of some kind of soup tempted Calista's eyes open.

"Finally awake aren't we?" Erik's slightly bitter voice assaulted Calista's ears.

"Shh," she murmured and put her finger to his lips before taking the soup and slurping it greedily.

"Did you really have to vomit all over the floor?" Erik eyed what was inside Calista's stomach minutes earlier with distaste.

"Would you rather it on the sheets?"

"No."

"Then shut up. I would clean it up by the way, it will start to smell… Take that back, it already does."

Grumbling, Erik mopped up the mess and sat on the bed next to Calista, waiting for her to finish the soup.

When she did, she sighed, "That helped a lot, what did you put in it?"

"A little of a lot of things," Erik shrugged, "I have developed a tonic to lessen the effects of a hangover."

"It works."

"I know."

Calista nodded and looked at Erik through lowered lashes. She had never really taken time to appreciate his strong jaw… or his beautiful eyes…

_STOP!_ Her mind drew her to a screeching halt. _There are a few problems with this one Calista. First being he is in love with Christine. Second, he is your best friend besides Meg and Christine. Third, do you really think he could love you? _She bit her lip and shook her head a little.

"Is something wrong?" Erik put a hand on her forehead to check for fever and she yanked away, drawing the covers up over shoulders and turning away.

"More than you could ever know," she whispered.

"Do not sleep long; we need to talk about the Masquerade." Erik kissed her forehead and cheek softly before walking out the door.

_He just had to do that._ Calista thought bitterly before letting sleep claim her again.

**_AN: Once again, reviews severly dissapoint me. Please review._**


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: I just need to make sure that Calista isn't getting to Mary Sueish. If you could leave me a review telling me yea or nay I would be much appreciative. _

_ON WITH THE STORY!_

Calista's eyes fluttered open and for a moment she was disoriented then she remembered where she was; she recognized the feel of velvet sheets against her palms and the lace netting that surrounded the bed, but what wasn't familiar to her at all was a strange weight across her waist. She looked down and saw a distinctly familiar male hand. Her breathing quickened and her stomach flip flopped at the sight of the pale hand with long fingers. Then she realized that a hard body was pressed against her back and the room became stifling.

_Oh. My. God._ She thought, her brain barely functioning. Calista screwed her eyes shut and tried in vain to calm her rapidly beating heart and steady her shallow breathing.

Erik's arm tightened around her and Calista nearly fainted dead away. Unconsciously, Erik trailed his hand down her hip and nuzzled her neck. He sighed, "_Christine,_" and tears sprang to Calista's eyes. She would have brushed them away, hardening her heart, but she didn't want to wake Erik. She wanted to savor the feel of his body against hers, the feel of being complete. The way she fit against him was magic to her.

Erik took a deep breath and sighed, opening his eyes. Calista heard him curse and felt the bed dip with his weight as he scrambled off. She sighed with the wave of disappointment that washed over her and she wiped the tears off of her cheeks.

"Callie, are you awake?" He walked around and squatted in front of her.

"My eyes are open so I cannot exactly say no, now can I?" Calista sighed and sat up.

"I am so sorry," Erik started blubbering but she put a finger on his lips.

"It's okay, nothing to apologize for."

"It's just that you were calling out in your sleep and you half way woke up and you asked me to lay down with you. I suppose I just dozed off. I'm sorry Callie; I should have kept myself awake. It's just that every time I thought you were asleep and I tried to get up, you woke up."

"Erik, it's fine," Calista reached out to hug him gently. Her heart tore in half.

He stiffened up a little then hugged her back a bit before she let go.

"Did I say anything else in my sleep?" She asked cautiously.

He paused for a moment before shaking his head, Calista sighed in relief.

"Would you like to talk about the Masquerade?"

Erik sighed in relief, "Sure."

Calista tuned out as Erik talked animatedly about what he was wearing; she immersed herself in the sound of his voice. She had never really noticed how smooth his voice was. It was like silk. It seemed to wash over her leaving her in a state of euphoria. Her eyes closed a little till Erik shook her.

"Hm?" Calista's eyes fluttered open.

"Did you hear any of that?" Erik's brow creased.

"Um, something about you wearing a Red Death costume, grand entrance, and making the managers cower in fear. Yes?"

Erik sighed, "What are you wearing? We need to coordinate."

Calista collapsed into a fit of giggles, Erik looked shocked.

"What!?"

"You sound like a pansy!" She snorted in a most unladylike way and Erik scoffed.

"Did not! As the resident ghost of the opera house, I have a certain image to uphold and if you are to be part of that for a night you must look, to a degree, like me."

"Well _Monsieur_, I was thinking about an Angel of Death." Calista sucked in her cheeks and tilted her head to the side; she looked vaguely like a fish.

Erik laughed a little, score one for Calista. "Perhaps you could draw up a design?"

She rolled her eyes, "Fine Sir Pansy, I will draw up a design so you can feed your superiority complex."

"I do not have a superiority complex."

She rolled her eyes again, "Sure you don't." She sighed. "Oh, and besides, you are supposed to be a _ghost_. You don't have an image."

Erik opened and closed his mouth a few times before huffing. "Well now I do."

Once it was certain Calista was in shape to walk, she left Erik's lair and went back into the daylight, but it was actually nighttime so it would be moonlight.

She clambered up the stairs to the roof and looked up at the sky. The moon seemed so far away but so close at the same time. It seemed like she could reach out and touch it. "Reach for the moon Callie," her mom used to tell her. She would whisper it in the four year-old's ear as the crickets sung her to sleep. "Reach for the moon Callie."

"I'm trying Mama." Calista hugged her arms tight around her and turned her back on the moon to go inside.

Her bed was unwelcoming and sleep didn't come easy, so Calista got out her journal and started sketching out her costume design. It slightly resembled the dress she had seen the gypsy women wear in the respect that there was a corset on the outside, but it was merely decoration. A full skirt, which reached the ground, was tattered in some places, leaving strands of fabric to flutter behind her when she walked. Calista drew bell sleeves that hung a bit below her hands which would be clad in black gloves with the fingers cut off. She sketched a cape that would have red lining with a large hood. Sighing, Calista colored it black and shades of grey, leaning back to admire her work.

"That's pretty."

Calista screamed and fell of her bed; Christine's laughing face looked down at her. A chorus of mumbled curse words and bed's creaking filled the room as Calista tried to level her breathing.

"What the hell was that for Christine!?"

"You were so absorbed," she shrugged, "I don't know. It seemed like the funny thing to do."

"On your end maybe."

"You seem pretty awake and okay for someone whose hangovers are hell."

"Well I am fine."

"Mmm. Well anyway, I like that dress you were drawing."

"Uh, this one?" Calista flipped to a page with a pale pink dress on it.

"No but yes, I really like that." Christine leaned closer to look at it, "Oh, that is beautiful. Um do you mind if I use that for my dress for the Masquerade?"

Calista's mouth fell open, "Of course you can!"

"Thanks." Christine took the page that Calista had ripped out and sat down on Calista's bed. "So what are you going as?"

"I'm not sure," Calista said hesitantly. "A fairy perhaps?"

"Oh don't be silly, I think you are more of an… an angel of death?"

Calista giggled nervously, "Why in the world would I be that?"

"Well isn't that what your sketch is?"

"This thing? No! It's a doodle." She tore the costume design out, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it behind her. "No, its nothing."

"Oh," Christine's brow furrowed, "Well I still like it. It's sinister. It would fit you well."

Calista laughed, "Are you saying _I'm_ sinister!?"

Christine shook her head and giggled, "No, it just suits you…" she trailed off like she meant to say something else, but just shook her head and smiled. "Good night Calista."

"G' night Christine," Calista murmured. After about ten minutes, Christine's breathing seemed even and Calista scrambled to retrieve her drawing and smooth it out lovingly.

"I _am_ sinister," she whispered to herself. "Erik is sinister, so I can be too." She nodded, placing the drawing in her journal. Smiling, Calista lay down and snuggled under the covers, welcoming the waves of sleep that washed over her.

"Look at this!" It was morning and Christine was waving the design for her dress in front of Meg's face.

"What is it?" Meg grumbled sleepily.

"Calista drew my dress."

"Ooh!" Meg shot up and snatched the paper away from her brunette friend. She gasped in appreciation, "Calista!"

"What?" Calista sat up in bed, her hair in tangles and strewn across her wide, surprised eyes.

"Draw me one!"

Groaning, Calista just pulled the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep. It didn't work. Besides, they had rehearsal.

Today's rehearsal went a whole lot better than the last time Calista was there. No shoe throwing fits, or stumbling today. She thanked the Lord for whatever made her feel better.

Afterward, she raced upstairs to grab her design and she raced down into Erik's lair to show him.

"Look!" She jumped out of the gondola, waving the paper in the air.

Erik laughed, "Hold it still." Calista obediently froze and Erik plucked the paper out of her hand which was still in the air. She wrinkled her nose and sighed contentedly; she loved the lair and all that came with it… _Erik_. She sighed again.

Erik took the paper over to a table and made a few marks before holding it up again.

"What did you do?" Laughing, Calista walked over to Erik and peered over his shoulder, resting her chin there.

"Added a few things here," he pointed, "and took the sequins off the mask. Feathers are better."

"Spectacular. It is spectacular."

"Spectacular, spectacular." Erik nodded and turned around, kissing Calista on the forehead.

She sighed and took the paper away. "Now on to the sewing," she wrinkled her nose. Pausing for a minute, she groaned and hit her head with the heel of her hand.

"What is it?"

"I have to make Christine's dress."

"She can't do it?" Erik asked, surprising himself with the question. Wasn't he the one who wanted to pamper Christine within an inch of her life?

"I designed the dress," Calista said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh goodness…" she shook her head. "I have to go."

"Alright. Good bye Callie."

"Bye Erik."

He watched her get into the gondola and row away before walking to his organ. He pounded away at some frustrating new feeling that was stirring in the depths of his very being. It frightened him.


	10. Chapter 10

_I DO NOT own Wicked or Phantom but that all goes without saying.__. But Jeeze how long did it take me to actually get here: ) Its finally up. I give you THE MASQUERADE! _

And before anyone jumps on me about how long this took: I had this dang thing written a whole **WEEK** ago and the dumb site wouldn't let me upload it. huff 

_But read on Phantom lovers, read on.

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_

Calista smiled faintly at her reflection in the smudged looking glass under the opera house. Her dark locks were swept up and her eyes were outlined in kohl. She had applied a dark red color to her lips. She truly looked like an angel of death.

Laughing to herself, Calista walked out into the music room. She never tired of watching or listening to Erik play. Settling into a chair, Calista picked up a book and read till Erik was finished.

Sighing, Erik sat back and looked at Calista; he clenched his teeth and ignored the primal way his body reacted to the curve and dip of her torso and the smooth outline of her hip.  
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he asked.

Calista quirked an eyebrow and looked down at the black lace dressing gown she had found in a wardrobe. The dressing gown was so sheer that a very good view was provided of her black corset with red lacing, and her other under things. "I wasn't sure when you would be ready to help me with the _various_ buttons on the back, Monsieur Genius. That would be why."

"Oh," Erik gritted his teeth again and stood up. "Let's get to it then I suppose."

"When are we leaving?"

"Soon."

"But it doesn't start for another hour."

"But it will take you half the party to get to where we are going I suppose," he shrugged.

"You mean we aren't going to be dancing?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Please?" Calista's bottom lip wobbled. "It's not like I will be able to dance with anyone else and I lied to Christine."

"You did?"

"Yes I did. I told her I was _sick_. I deserve to have a little fun tonight. I want to dance."

Erik just sighed again. "I didn't ask you to come with me."

"But you love me so you just cannot resist my adorable face and you will succumb to my will and we will go dancing then we can scare the whole party witless."

"How do you suggest I do that?"

"Be scary and intimating whilst we are dancing then when a police officer asks you to leave because the managers will be so creeped out, you will jump up on the trap door with me and throw your fit then we leave."

"How did you know there was a trap door?"

"Because I kind of figured you weren't planning on strolling out the front doors." Calista grinned then walked away to slip into her dress. Erik only rolled his eyes and followed.

Calista slipped out of her dressing gown and into her costume, unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on Erik's body. She glanced over her shoulder and Erik waked up, buttoned the buttons quickly, and then retreated without a word to get ready.

The tingle that was left from Erik's fingers brushing her back lingered as Calista sat back on the bed to pull up her stockings and slip on her shoes.

She began to sing a bittersweet song under her breath, "_Don't wish, don't start wishing only wounds the heart I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl there's a girl I know he loves her so I'm not that girl_."

_What are you trying to get at?_ She asked herself. _Let him be happy with Christine. She can make him happy in ways you never could._

Plastering a smile on her face, Calista stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and walked out to meet Erik. _Be happy for him. If he is happy, then you will be happy whatever you are.

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_

"Okay so you say nothing to anyone do you understand?" Erik hissed as they walked into the ballroom, ignoring the gasps of random patrons around the room.

Calista nodded with a slight smile to show her understanding.

Once they reached the middle of the floor, Erik turned to Calista and held out his hand. With a small bow he asked, "Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?" She dropped a small curtsy and placed her gloved hand in his. A small shiver ran down her spine as Erik gripped her hand and placed the other on the small of her back, drawing her perhaps a bit closer than the dance called for.

His faint musky smell permeated her senses. She could feel every brush of his body against hers and every single one of his moves oozed sensuality. Their gazes never broke as they danced around the room dance after dance.

Calista started to pant a little and Erik stopped and looked at her questioningly. She touched her throat and swallowed hard, careful to not say a word. Erik smirked and walked off to get her a drink.

"Excuse me?" Someone tapped Calista on the shoulder. She turned around.

"Excuse me but do I know you?" Christine was standing in front of Calista with a pointed stare and a quirked eyebrow. Calista's eyes widened and she shook her head smiling a little.

"Calista I am not stupid," Christine lowered her voice. "What the hell are you doing here? You told me you weren't coming because you were sick." She crossed her arms over her pale pink dress.

"Dear, I got you that drink you wanted," the Vicomte walked up behind Christine then looked quizzically at Calista. "Hello, is this one of your friends Christine?"

Christine paused, "No, I was just telling her how I admired her dress and what a long time it would have taken to sew it. It seems so complex."

Calista smiled faintly, shrugging.

Raoul looked at Calista's dress and smiled a little, "It does seem very complex. Whoever sewed it should be very proud." Then he turned to Christine, "Come dear, I should introduce you to one of my business partners." The couple turned away and Calista sighed.

"You did well," a silky voice murmured in her ear. She only rolled her eyes and took the cup away from Erik, gulping it down then shoved it back in his hand. Holding up a finger to say she would be back in a moment, Calista walked out of the stuffy ballroom and into an empty room off the hall.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart, Calista took off her mask and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. _What are you doing here?_ She asked herself. _What are you doing?_ She listened to a clock chime eleven and sighing, she put her mask back on and walked back into the ballroom where Erik was waiting by the door.

"Are you alright?" He asked. She nodded.

"Excuse me sir?" A gruff voice addressed Erik and Calista. They turned and met the eyes of a police officer shuffling his feet uncomfortably.

"May I help you?" Erik asked.

"The managers wanted me to ask you to leave. They said you are frightening their guests."

Calista smirked at the officer then at Erik.

"_They_ want _me_ to leave?" Erik asked.

"Yes."

"Do they know _who_ exactly they are asking to leave?"

"Pardon me?"

Erik threw back his head and laughed, causing the room to fall into complete silence. "They want _me_ to leave. Did you hear that dear?" He turned to Calista, "They want the _Opera Ghost_ to leave. They have the audacity to ask me to leave."

Calista pouted a little and shrugged, holding up her gloved hands in surrender.

"Sir, you must leave or we will be forced to force you to leave," the officer had a quaver in his voice as if he was afraid of the crazy man pretending to be the notorious O.G. He was crazy wasn't he?

Erik took a hold of Calista's hand and sprinted up the stairs, brandishing his sword. "Why so silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera! Here I bring the finished score Don Juan Triumphant!" He smirked at the managers who were gazing at him in horror. He looked at Calista who quirked an eyebrow then he continued. "Fondest greetings to you all! A few instructions just before rehearsal starts: Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting round the stage. Our Don Juan must lose some weight- it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age. And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts. As for our star, Miss Christine Daae..." he began to walk toward her, with Calista clinging to his arm.

"No doubt she'll do her best - it's true her voice is good. She knows, though, should she wish to excel she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher, her teacher…" Erik paused and blanched at the sight of a large diamond ring around his protégé's neck. He took a hold of it and yanked, "Your chains are still mine," he hissed. "You belong to _me._"

Christine gaped in horror and looked at Calista, but Erik was already yanking her back up the stairs. In a puff of red smoke, they were both gone.

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Please leave a review. I'm sad at the number of reviews I have been getting. I feel small :(  
xo.  
kat.


	11. Chapter 11

"Erik!" Calista picked up her skirts to rush after the Phantom. "Erik, wait!" Gasping, she reached out and latched onto a fistful of his red sleeve.

"What?" He whirled around and shoved his face in hers, "What do you _want _Calista?"

"What are you-" she was interrupted by a dull thump and a vaguely familiar voice calling out into the shadows that engulfed Calista and Erik.

She felt Erik's muscles bunch up and he growled, "Vicomte."

He wrenched himself free of her grasp and strode quickly into the maze of halls with Calista fast at his heels.

"Erik," she hissed, "Erik, what in the name of God, are you doing? This isn't going to make Christine fall in love with you. You know that right?"

He whirled back on her, "What won't? Killing the Vicomte? Maybe not, but it will get the competition out of the way. And then who will my dear turn to? Her angel. That would be me, incase you forgot.

"He isn't the one who helped her through the loss of her father. He didn't train her for her magnificent performance. No if it weren't for me she would still be doing jetés with you and your fellow whores."

Calista stopped, "Take that back."

"Did you know about this?" Erik ground out. For some reason he felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience. His ears were ringing and bile was rising in his throat. But at what? The fact Christine was engaged? Yes he was angry about that, perhaps even enraged, but he just called his dearest friend a whore.

"Know about what?" Calista spat.

"The _engagement_, that's what."

"For sure? No. Had I heard rumors? Yes," she paused, "Why are you doing this to her?"

"Monsieur le Fantôme," The Vicomte called out, "Come out, and fight like the man you impersonate."

Erik ground his teeth and turned to his right abruptly and started to go up a flight of stairs. Where did it lead? As if Calista knew.

Giving an upset huff, she turned around and rushed back to the Vicomte. The man wasn't her favorite person in the world but he was kind and Christine was in love with him. They were apparently engaged. Raoul didn't deserve to die.

Relying on sense alone, Calista navigated her way back. At this point, she wasn't sure that Erik would come and rescue her even if she was lost and ready to die.

She neared the room of mirrors and the Vicomte was swirling around with his sword out, ready to stab the reflection of the Phantom. Ominous music pounded in Calista's ears as a noose fell from the sky. Biting her lip, she gave the Vicomte's jacket a tug; he swung around, ready to stab at the fool who his fiancée was so enamored with.

"Do not stab me," Calista said dryly, she took hold of his arm and drug him away from the room and into the light of the opera house where the Masquerade was dying down. What could top the appearance of the Phantom of the Opera?

"Who is this man?" Raoul asked.

"No one," Calista answered as she stopped in the hallway to make sure no one was around. Much to her dismay, however, she knew she the walls had ears.

"Mademoiselle, I know you know something."

"Please monsieur, I know no more than anyone else. Now if you would go and comfort Christine, I am sure it would be much appreciated." Calista turned to leave, but the Vicomte grabbed her arm.

"I know you do," he spoke in a low tone, "I know it was you who paraded around with that coward. I know you know something. Please, just tell me. He could cause harm to everything I hold dear and that isn't a lot.

"Let me share something with you, I am not just a figure. I have a personality. I have feelings. And let me tell you, I am in love with Christine. I love her with all my heart. And I do thank who ever this 'Angel' is for training her because as much as I am ashamed to say it, I do not think I would have recognized Christine if she hadn't been on stage opening night.

"The public may be fawning over me and commenting on my childhood, but my mother died when I was quite young and my father turned to alcohol. As much as I love them, my sisters did quite botch the job of _trying_ to raise me. I was thrust off to nannies because my brother was too busy trying to keep our heads above water. Luckily for me and all involved, we came out on top and are now one of the most well off families in Paris. But it was not always the case. Christine for a while was the bright spot. She was the star in my night. The rose. Then she was torn away from me. I have found her again, she is my salvation, and I will not give her up."

"Vicomte, as much as I do appreciate you telling me this, I'm afraid I cannot tell you anything that would help you," she paused, "And even if I could, I don't think I would. I couldn't. Christine is my friend, sister perhaps, but _he_ is my _family_. We have known each other for quite a while and … I could not do anything. Believe me, I am trying my hardest to keep all our heads above water and let me tell you now, you are in the most danger.

"So if I were you, I would let this go for a while. And if you let go of my arm now, I promise not to tell Christine where I got this unseemly bruise on my arm." Calista watched the Vicomte register what she had just said and drop her arm uneasily.

"I apologize for that. I didn't realize I had such a grip on your arm," he coughed as Calista rubbed her wrist, still staring at him with a cold and broken detachment.

"Thank you, now if you would excuse me," Calista bobbed her head and walked down the hall and then turned down another hall. Although she wished it could be avoided, she had to go down to Erik's home. Her clothes were there and she really hoped that Christine didn't know it was her at the ball.

"Quite a touching speech my dear," Erik's voice dripped sarcasm as he leaned against the organ, watching Calista stop the gondola and climb out. He didn't offer to help when she about fell into the lake.

"Stop being such a pig headed imbecile. It doesn't suit you," she retorted. "You should be happy. I didn't say anything!"

"No you didn't," Erik paused then deflated. "I didn't mean to call you a whore. I apologize."

"Everyone seems to be doing a lot of that tonight," Calista muttered, rubbing her sore arm. "Thank you, now if you would let me get my things."

"What happened to your arm?" Erik held out an arm to stop her.

Calista looked down then back up at Erik, "Nothing you need to worry about."

He picked up her arm, "Callie I am not stupid or blind. There is a hand print on your arm."

"Like you haven't done worse," she snapped, causing him to drop her arm and let her pass.

"Callie," Erik followed his friend into her room and sat down on the bed as she gathered her things and stuffed them in a sack.

"Don't," she muttered.

"Look," he began, "Things aren't the way I had hoped they would be. And if I could go back and change things I would but I can't. I follow through on things and this sure is one of them. I can't just abandon Christine."

Calista turned around, clutching her journal to her chest, "Abandon her? Let me ask you a question. Do you really love her?"

"Of course I do," Erik replied a bit quickly.

"Then let her go. Don't you see what you are doing to her? You are killing her. You are forcing her to choose and Meg and I have to be around to pick up the pieces. This isn't what you want to do is it?"

"No."

"Then stop. I don't understand why you cant just move on to something or someone else. Try and sell your music under a different name. you don't have to go to opening nights or anything. Erik I have read some of your music and you are, as you know, a genius. Why do you keep that to yourself and why do you obsess over my friend?

"I know you _think_ you love her but could it just be a passing infatuation? I mean could all of this be for nothing?" She waved her arm above her head at the room she knew was meant for Christine.

"A passing infatuation? Calista, you know me better than that. I don't have passing infatuations. I have been in love with Christine for as long as she has been here! Don't tell me what love is.

"And as for go onto someone else, have you seen my face? I look like I am a corpse. I have no nose. My flesh looks like it is _rotting_. I am supposed to find someone who can accept all of this? Who can look past this and see what you call genius? Tell me Callie and I will gladly pursue her. You think I don't know that Christine thinks she is in love with the Vicomte? I do. I know. I know everything that goes on in this opera house.

"The Vicomte is a man. He is whole. Maybe he cannot write music, but he is whole and he…" he paused then shook his head.

"You think you know everything that goes on in this opera house do you?" Calista asked with hurt bubbling up to the surface and gathering in her throat, making it swell.

"Yes, yes I do."

"No you don't. You think your face is so horrible. It is only because you make it to be. If you could not think about your damn face for at least two minutes, you would be something any woman would want. Lust after even. Your preoccupation with your face has caused your soul to begin dying. The boy I knew when I was small wouldn't let a little thing like this stop him. You killed when you were there. I know you did." She stopped and shook her head. To Calista, this was all getting to be too much; she had to dig herself out of the well she had dug with her bare hands.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked.

"Going back upstairs."

"No, why – what-" he stopped and put his head in his hands. Calista filled him with contradictions. He didn't know what was real anymore and he was positive he didn't make sense when he talked to her. What had he meant by if Calista found someone he would pursue her? No, Christine was the only one for him and the Vicomte was in the way. But then why did Calista make him feel bad? Usually, Erik had no problem getting what he wanted and he had no qualms about how he got it… was killing the Vicomte really worth it?


End file.
